


Beacon Hills Syndrome

by JLencre



Series: Fringe Theory [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Bashing, Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mating Bites, Sane Peter Hale, Scott McCall is a Bad Friend, Sheriff Stilinski's Name is Noah, Spark Stiles Stilinski
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-08 11:12:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15242112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JLencre/pseuds/JLencre
Summary: Peter and Stiles were kidnapped and held captive by hunters who could have given Kate Argent lessons in how to be a sociopath. Peter gave Stiles a mating bite to save his life, and there are consequences now that they've escaped.A/N: It is heavily implied that Peter was tortured and raped during the time he and Stiles were held captive. There isn't any on-screen rape/violence, flashback, or overt discussion, but I chose to warn anyway. "Surprising" people with that kind of stuff is a shitty thing to do.





	Beacon Hills Syndrome

**Author's Note:**

> Dubious consent applies to the circumstances of the mating bite. The sex between Peter and Stiles happens with enthusiastic consent on both sides.
> 
> Takes place after the Alpha Pack and the darach, but the nogitsune never happened. I’ve also aged Stiles up a bit to make him legal (18).

Peter knew he was the absolute last person Chris Argent expected to see on his doorstep that Thursday morning. The hunter’s face went through a myriad of micro expressions before settling on his usual stoic look.

“Hale.”

As much as Peter was desperate for help, he couldn’t stop himself from screwing with the hunter by smiling pleasantly.

“Christopher. Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

The werewolf counted six heartbeats before Chris (and he had to think of him as Chris, not Argent if he wanted to keep his wolf from going mad) bared his teeth in a mockery of a smile and reluctantly opened the door wide enough to admit his uninvited guest. It amused Peter to note how lupine the hunter’s expression was.

He also congratulated himself on being smart enough to wait until Allison had left for school. An alliance between the Pack and the Argents only went so far; there was no way in hell Chris would invite a wolf of questionable mental stability into his home if his precious daughter had been there too.

Peter adjusted his messenger bag cross-body strap and casually stepped into the house. His nostrils flared, and his wolf gave a mental growl at the pervasive scent of mountain ash, wolfsbane, and gun oil.

“Coffee in the kitchen,” Chris stated, nodding toward the doorway.

Peter mentally nudged the wolf back, not allowing so much as an eye flare give away his discomfort. He was there to ask for a favor, as much as he loathed the idea of asking a hunter for anything. At least he knew he could trust Chris to fulfill his end of the deal, if he agreed to it at all.

“That would be lovely,” Peter said with a smirk.

He headed toward the kitchen, well aware Chris wouldn’t allow him to be at his back. The wolf didn’t like it, but needs must.

“It smells like an organic blend, if I’m not mistaken. None of the bitterness chemical herbicides and insecticides leave behind on the beans.”

“It’s Fair Trade,” Chris reluctantly admitted, pouring a dark green mug full and sliding it across the counter to Peter. “Allison insists on buying organic and Fair Trade as much as possible.”

A brief relaxing of Chris’ facial muscles and upturn to his lips told of the man’s affection for his only child.

Peter settled on one of the bar stools and took the offered drink, humming in pleasure at the taste. All the while, he was careful to keep his movements relaxed and unhurried. He had no doubt Chris had at least one weapon with wolfsbane-laced bullets close at hand. Christopher might be curious enough to let Peter in his home, but the man was a hunter at heart. He’d never let himself be put at a disadvantage, especially when facing a known danger like Peter.

“Cut the crap, Hale. What do you want? I know you didn’t come here for my coffee.”

Peter cupped the hot mug, grateful for the distraction that would hopefully keep his hands from shaking. He had no intention of letting the hunter know he wasn’t as calm as he pretended to be.

“Ah. Well, you see, Christopher, I need a favor.”

“A favor,” Chris repeated flatly.

“Yes. It seems I am in need of someone who will promise to kill me, and, if things go the way I presume, will follow through on that promise. Not even I am cruel enough to make my nephew rip out my throat a second time, so who better than a hunter with vast experience in taking down my kind?”

Chris stared at him for a moment, his eyes narrowing, then he abruptly set his own mug on the counter, the porcelain hitting the marble surface with more force than was good for either one.

“This has something to do with when you and Stiles were captured. What didn’t you tell us?”

“And that’s why I can tolerate you: you’re smarter than the majority of the people in this hellmouth.”

“Peter!”

“Very well.” Peter carefully removed his messenger bag and set in on the stool next to him. “First, you need to understand that, out of the entire pack of misfits and inept children, I truly care about only one. If forced to choose between him and my dear nephew or the so-called True Alpha, I will choose Stiles every time.”

“That’s not news to me, not after the complete fit Scott threw when he realized you two hadn’t come back from your patrol. He was certain you’d taken off with Stiles yourself.”

Chris didn’t roll his eyes at the stupidity of the child-alpha, but Peter got the sense that he wanted to.

“I’ve heard more than one rant from Scott about how you’re trying to corrupt Stiles with your evil research sessions that might or might not be poor attempts at seduction.”

Peter snorted. “Not that I wouldn’t jump at the opportunity to take Stiles from that infantile idiot, but he is unfortunately as loyal as he is intelligent. I’d be in hell an hour before I realized I was dead, and Stiles would be right back with Scott.”

“True enough,” Chris smirked. No doubt the hunter had also noted the wide vicious streak the young man possessed. “I always assumed that was why you insisted on patrolling with him—as long as you were working for the pack, he’d have your back. More than I could say for most of the others.”

Peter saluted the hunter with his half-empty coffee mug. “I also happen to be the only person who seems to remember that while Stiles is human and ‘squishy,’ as he puts it, and without the skills of someone like your daughter, he’s never going to allow himself to be sidelined. Not even his best friend understands that just telling him to stay home will work.”

“He’s not a dog, after all.”

Peter sneered at the implied insult, but refused to allow himself to be sidetracked.

“It is by my preference that Stiles and I are often paired for research duties and for patrols. I like to think we have come to an understanding and conditional loyalty, if nothing else.”

Stiles was, for all intents and purposes, the only person Peter truly considered his pack. He could see Stiles’ worth as well as his potential. He and his wolf side had both known they were still working their way into the young man’s good graces; however, he’d been willing to take things at a glacially slow pace as he wooed the young man. Or he had been until the hunters with delusions of being scientists captured them both. What had happened between them then may have destroyed all of Peter’s careful planning to one day have Stiles as his mate, preferably after Stiles had had a chance to get out of Beacon Hills, attend college, and settle more into his own skin.

Chris shifted his weight and propped his hip against the counter, then made a “go on” motion with one hand.

“Knowing what little you do of Stiles and his remarkable loyalty, you’ll understand why he didn’t run when those supposedly rogue hunters found us.” Peter’s expression twisted at the thought of the sick bastards who’d caught them. “He stayed and fought, which resulted in their capturing both of us instead of just me. By the time the tranquilizer dart they’d hit me with wore off, Stiles and I were locked together in a basement that had been set up as both confinement and torture chamber.”

Of course, the hunters hadn’t seen it as torture but experimentation and “science.” They’d wanted to see just what was different about Peter that had allowed him to come back from the dead. If their experiments caused unspeakable pain to Peter, well, that was just a side benefit. The other things they’d done to him they hadn’t even tried to cloak in the guise of science, but Peter forced those memories back, locking them away with the memories of the night his first pack had been murdered.

“Stiles was conscious but concussed,” Peter continued. “Fortunately, I was able to recover quickly enough to be able to hear the argument going on just beyond the door. Having figured out that Stiles was human, the hunters were trying to decide what to do with him. Unfortunately, the majority were all for eliminating him, as they had been surveilling us all for several weeks and had come to the conclusion that he was unimportant to the pack.”

Yet another failing of the weak, immature pack. None of them had realized they were being watched, not even Peter. He was still weakened from his temporary death…not that anyone except Stiles believed him about that. It was a testament to how truly terrible Derek and Scott were as alphas that they hadn’t immediately recognized how weak Peter was, nor had they recognized that Peter and his wolf weren’t quite right either. Werewolves were not meant to be as separate as they Peter and his were, especially not in a born werewolf. Peter had to hope that time would heal and rejoin the two aspects of his nature.

Chris’ expression had turned grim, his eyes cold and his lips a thin line. “So you figured out a way to make him important enough to keep around.”

“I did,” Peter admitted. “I had less than five minutes to explain to Stiles what they were saying and to offer him to protect him the only way I could at that point.”

“You bit him.”

“Yes.”

 _“Just do it!”_ Stiles had whisper-yelled desperately. _“You can’t turn me, and I don’t wanna die. If this will convince them to let me live, you have to help me.”_ He’d torn back his sleeve on his right wrist and pushed the shaking limb at Peter. _“Please, Peter. Please, **please** , don’t make me leave my dad alone.”_

“I bit him with his consent, but I don’t know that he truly understood. His concussion kept him nauseated and not in any condition to make such decisions for quite some time.”

Even after that, the young man had been so traumatized by what happened afterward that Peter wouldn’t have considered him capable of consent then either.

“It was enough to convince the hunters.”

That was more true than Chris knew. It was all Peter could do to keep from snarling and letting the wolf come forward as he remembered the rage he’d felt and how he’d killed the bitch who’d been intent on killing Stiles, plus the three fools who’d tried to take Stiles away from him after that. Only the knowledge that all the hunters were now dead was able to calm him enough to keep from shifting his fangs and claws.

“I assure you, I was able to put on a show that convinced even the most reluctant that Stiles was essential to my cooperation. If they wanted to continue their ‘experiments’ on me, they had to keep him alive and relatively unharmed.”

“Stiles was leverage.”

“Yes.”

That was all Peter intended to say about that, but there was a reason Stiles had only come home with bruises, cuts, and cracked ribs, and it wasn’t that the hunters were reticent when it came to hurting him or making him scream. Stiles was Peter’s mate, and the wolf would have done—in fact, he _had_ done everything he could to protect him. It was a duty, an instinct written into his very DNA.

To Peter’s wolf, that was _still_ the absolute truth. Even now, the wolf paced and whined at the back of his mind for their mate. He didn’t understand why his human hadn’t brought their mate to their den. The wolf had understood that they couldn’t consummate the bond while they were weak from torture and still in danger, but now the drive to finish what they’d started was an unrelenting itch beneath their skin.

The wolf had wanted Stiles even while trapped in the madness the fire had left behind. He’d offered him a mating bite and had only been able to accept his refusal by looking at it as a challenge to prove himself worthy. Now that Stiles was marked, the desire to have him, to mate him was as inexorable as the call of Lady Moon herself. Were and wolf knew what it felt like to bite and mark his mate’s body. They had defended their mate from all threats and had protected him with everything they had. They’d also held Stiles in their arms as he’d slept, trusting that they would protect him from the horrors around them.

The wolf believed he had proven himself, and now it was time to reap the benefits. It was time consummate the bond and mark his mate in the other way that mattered, by spilling his seed within his mate’s body and changing his base scent. It was only Peter’s iron control that kept him from taking what he knew Stiles was not prepared to give. Stiles might never want to give himself to Peter that way, and he refused to take what was not freely offered.

Seeing that Peter wasn’t going to elaborate on the time he’d spent in captivity, Chris changed tactics and pointed out, “He’s only seventeen, Peter. He's not even a senior in high school yet.”

“Eighteen,” Peter corrected. “Stiles was held back the year his mother died, so he turned eighteen while we were captive. Believe me, I am quite aware that I’m more than a decade his senior.”

“Fine, eighteen. That’s still far too young,” Chris sighed. “Does he even understand what the mating bite means?”

“No.”

Chris frowned at that. “They why are you here? Why aren’t you explaining it to him?”

Peter’s smile was more snarl, his teeth pointier than they should have been.

“Because _I can’t_. If he refuses me...” Peter growled and flashed his eyes before wrestling control back from his wolf. “Put it this way: I don’t think the wolf will _let_ him refuse me.”

Chris jerked back, his expression twisting into something ugly. “You’d rape him?”

Peter shot to his feet and slammed his palms down on the countertop. “No, you fool! That’s why I’m here!”

He righted the stool he’d knocked over when he’d stood and ran through his personal mantra, trying to calm down. When he looked back at Chris, he was unsurprised to find himself looking down the barrel of a .45, no doubt loaded with wolfsbane bullets.

Peter held up human hands and grimaced. “We both know I’m not a good man. I was doing Talia’s dirty work long before I lost my Pack and my mind to your sister’s version of hellfire. I’ve never cared much about the laws of God nor those of man, but the one thing I’ve never done is force myself on anyone. I’m many things, but I’m _not a rapist_. Not by force, coercion, or seduction under false pretenses. I've never hurt anyone that way, which is more than I can say for your family.”

Chris winced at the blunt reminder of what Kate had done, but his aim didn’t waver. “So you’re here for me to kill you? You just said your wolf wouldn’t let him tell you no.”

“You're not getting it, Christopher.” Peter shook his head and explained with what little patience he had left. “I want you to lock me up in whatever little dungeon I’m sure you have here. Then I want you to inform Stiles of what the bite means and what it means to be a werewolf’s mate. I want him to have a choice.”

“Even if he chooses to reject you?”

“Yes, even so.”

With Peter’s decisive answer, Chris cautiously lowered the gun, though he didn’t set it down. “You’re serious about this. You want me to cage you, tell Stiles about werewolf mating, then kill you when _—if_ he says no.”

“Yes,” Peter repeated tightly. “If he decides to refuse the bond, I will have to choose between being a rapist and being dead. I’m making the choice ahead of time, and I choose death. I only ask that you make it fast and as painless as you can.” He nodded at the .45 Chris still held in one hand. “One of those bullets between the eyes, perhaps.”

“You know Stiles will never let that happen.” Chris shook his head. “If he knew I was responsible for your death, no doubt I’d be the one watching my back for the rest of my life. The boy knows how to hold a grudge.”

Peter’s eyes flashed beta-blue.

“Do _not_ tell Stiles under any circumstances. If you have to end me, tell him I left Beacon Hills to keep the wolf from claiming him against his will. It’s true, in a way. I’ll just be leaving the planet, not the city.”

He motioned to the messenger bag.

“Records are in here for all my assets. I’ve taken the liberty of adding him to my accounts, so he shouldn’t have any trouble that way. Give it to him after I’m gone. Cremate my remains so there’s no trace, then tell him I left this for him. At the very least, he’ll be able to pay off his father’s debts, go to the university of his choice, and support himself while he’s there. He’s too smart to waste on this hellmouth’s community college.”

Chris frowned, looking from the bag to Peter.

“Why would you leave everything to him?”

‘Why not leave it to Derek?’ was the unspoken question.

Peter held Chris’ gaze. “No matter what happens now, Stiles _is_ my mate.”

_…and I’ll provide for him the only way I can._

*~*~*~*

There was a thump outside Stiles’ window.

“Creeper-wolf?” he asked, sitting up from where he’d been sprawled lethargically on his bed, watching the latest _Gotham_ episode. He still ached, and it was easier to lie on the bed with an abundance of support pillows than it was to sit in the living room on their ancient sofa.

The window slid open, and Scott tumbled into the room, a frown marring his expression.

“No, it’s me. Why would you think it was Peter? Has that jerk been bothering you?”

Stiles sighed and rolled his eyes. “No, I haven’t seen him since we got out of That Place.”

Stiles wasn’t mentally in a state where he could give a name to the horrors he and Peter—though mostly Peter—had endured. It had just become That Place in his head, capital letters and all.

“Oh. Good.” Scott nodded decisively. “I don’t want him around you, especially after he got you hurt.”

Stiles suppressed the urge to smack Scott, knowing it would only hurt his hand. He didn’t bother defending Peter either, since it would just get him yet another lecture about how Peter was corrupting him, which would lead to talk about “neutralizing” Peter. Stiles didn’t think Scott would kill Peter, but there was that freaky Eichen House out at the edge of town. Stiles had always gotten a weird vibe from that place. With the way their lives were going, he wouldn’t be surprised to learn they had some kind of supernatural wing too.

Instead, Stiles slipped his thumbs back through the thumbholes in the long-sleeve t-shirt he was wearing beneath his usual plaid and was grateful he’d never told Scott about Peter biting him. Though Stiles had to wonder how the hell his childhood friend could be a True Alpha if he couldn’t sniff out Peter’s mark on him. Even Stiles could sense Peter on his skin, and he didn’t have any supernaturally augmented senses.

The mating bite had saved his life without a doubt, but there was no way Scott would see it that way. No, to Scott it would just be another unpardonable crime Peter had committed. Unlike all the others Scott had let off with a warning, Peter would never be forgiven for his crimes, real or imagined.

“What are you doing here?” Stiles asked, changing the topic. “You realize I’m still grounded, right?”

It turned out that his dad’s idea of keeping him safe from being kidnapped again (as well as punishing him for lying to him for months) was grounding him for the last week of school and the entirety of winter break. If he was honest, Stiles hadn’t fought it very hard. He’d been left on the fringes of the pack ever since he’d had that huge blow up with Scott because he and Derek had just let the darach go instead of making sure she was dead, and they’d let Deucalion go free entirely despite the fact that the werewolf was responsible for the murders of dozens if not hundreds of people—both humans and supernaturals—including Erica and Boyd.

Scott gave him a crooked grin. “I know, but I know your dad is at the station tonight, and I checked for a patrol car just in case. I couldn’t leave my bro in his time of need, you know?”

“Really.”

Stiles eased back down on his bed and gave Scott an unimpressed look. He pointedly didn’t ask where his bro had been for the last dozen days. Nor did he ask when he’d been those first several days and nights when Stiles had hurt so much he couldn’t sleep and had been too afraid to take the pain meds in case he got stuck in a nightmare like had happened the only time he’d tried it. He really could’ve used the wolfy pain-drain thing then.

Fuck, Stiles missed _Peter._ As horrible as it had been, he’d slept better in Peter’s arms in that hell on earth than he had since he’d found out the things that go bump in the night were real. He regretted telling Peter he was grounded so the werewolf couldn’t come around until his dad calmed down. Though, in all honesty, he was shocked that Peter was obeying instead of finding a way around Noah’s edict.

“Well….” Scott shrugged and flashed him one of his trademark silly-puppy grins. “Me and Allison were going to go to a movie, but her dad got this idea in his head that he wanted to do a father-daughter bonding thing instead. We’re going to go tomorrow, so I decided to come see you tonight.”

So much for “just friends.” Stiles almost groaned at the thought of enduring the on-again Scott-n-Allison drama. He also noted that not only was he not invited, he was yet again merely an afterthought in Scott’s life.

“And Isaac?”

“He’s doing that job shadowing thing for class tonight.” Scott beamed. “How cool is it that he’s shadowing my mom? It would be great to have somebody in the pack who knows about medical stuff, just in case Mom is at work when we need that kind of thing.”

Stiles very carefully didn’t think about the professional-grade medical kits in his room and in his jeep. Neither did he think about the classes he’d taken so he’d be a Certified First Responder if it ever came up. Not to mention the research he’d done and the herbs and various strains of wolfsbane he’d gotten his hands on—with no help from Deaton, thank you very much—so he could be prepared no matter who got shot with what.

“Medical training is always a good thing,” he said instead, wondering if Scott could smell his resentment. Probably not. True Alpha or not, Scott still didn’t seem to know how to use the senses the bite had given him.

“I know, right? Isaac will be the best…at least once he’s trained. I’m sure Mom will hook him up with the best people to learn from. It’s not like medicine is something he can just learn from the internet or books.”

Right. Unlike the endless hours of research Stiles had done. Research was only valuable when it was something that would benefit the Pack immediately. Besides, research was something Scott knew Stiles did with Peter, Scott’s very own He-who-shall-not-be-named. Anything that was related to Peter even remotely was anathema to Scott.

“I was about to watch _Gotham_. You up for that?” Stiles finally asked, wondering if Scott had even noticed how subdued he had become since he’d come back from That Place. Probably not. It wasn’t like he’d been around enough to know.

“Yeah, sounds great.” Scott clapped him on the shoulder, which still had bone-deep bruises from what had been done to him. Stiles had to wonder how Scott missed the hiss of pain or the flinch that preceded it. “You have any popcorn? Maybe some Doritos?”

“Sure, dude.” Stiles gave him a strained smile, but Scott didn’t notice that either. He was already out the door and pounding down the stairs to the kitchen.

Stiles dragged himself from the bed and followed much more slowly. He wondered when being Scott’s friend had become something he endured rather than enjoyed.

*~*~*~*

Stiles yawned as he shuffled into the kitchen the next morning, grateful he wasn’t expected to go to school. He was black-and-blue over the majority of his body, and he ached like an old man. Well, that’s what happened when a person was restrained in stress positions for hours on end. He was doing physical therapy he’d found on the internet just to make sure his joints healed correctly.

Stiles could smell eggs, bacon, and toast, so he knew his dad was home. Since finding out about the supernatural after the whole darach thing, Noah had been making an attempt to be home more often when Stiles was going to be there and awake. The station was still short-staffed enough that Noah couldn’t get out of all the doubles and overnights, as the previous day’s double shift proved, but he was trying, and that was what mattered. As much as Stiles thought he should chafe at the confinement after years of being self-sufficient, he couldn’t. It finally felt like he had a dad again, and he didn’t want to screw that up.

“Those better be Egg Beaters and turkey bacon,” Stiles grouched.

His dad’s health and diet was one area Stiles refused to give up trying to control. After all, he only had a dad for as long as the man was healthy enough to stick around.

The dual snorts of amusement broke him out of his tunnel vision and made him blink stupidly at the table where his dad and Chris Argent, of all people, were sitting with the remains of their breakfasts. Well, if they were having breakfast, at least whatever supernatural crap had brought Chris to their door wasn’t urgent…yet.

Noah wiped the runny, yellow yoke off his plate with his last bit of toast and popped it in his mouth with a half-guilty, half-defiant look, making Chris hide his smirk behind his coffee cup.

“Good morning, Stiles,” the older man greeted.

Stiles crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his dad.

“Hey, kid. Sleep okay?” Noah asked after swallowing the last of his contraband.

Stiles grunted a non-answer. “I hope you know you’re having fish and Boca burgers for the rest of the month.”

“Hey now, that’s not fair!” His dad pointed to the fried tomatoes. “It was only one egg, and we had vegetables!”

“Uh-huh.”

Stiles stared him down until Noah admitted, “Fine. Two. Two eggs. Chris said they were free-range, though, so that has to count for something, right?”

“It counts toward eggplant lasagna in your future. And kale. Lots and lots of kale.”

“Aw, now there’s no reason to go overboard,” Noah complained with a grimace. “Chris brought breakfast, and it would have been rude to turn it down. He brought some for you too. I put it in the oven so it’d be warm whenever you decided to get up.”

“How generous of you,” Stiles snarked, though he did retrieve his breakfast and his usual super-size mug of coffee with eggnog-flavored creamer. He loved December for the eggnog creamer if for no other reason.

Chris took one look at the cup and shook his head ruefully. “Really, Stiles?”

Stiles, who was attempting to shove a piece of toast laden with eggs, tomatoes, and bacon into his mouth, just shrugged. With the way his life was going lately, he hadn’t been able to resist a mug that said, _Good morning, I see the assassins have failed._

“So what’s going on?”

“Chew, Stiles. Chew, swallow, then talk,” Noah instructed with a resigned sigh. “At least pretend you weren’t raised in a barn.”

Obediently, Stiles swallowed and asked again, “So what’s going on? Some supernatural craziness last night you guys didn’t bother to tell me about?”

Noah and Chris looked at each other and had an entire conversation with their eyebrows, or so it seemed. Stiles wondered if they’d been taking lessons from Derek.

Stiles started humming the theme from _Jeopardy_ and waited for one of them to break. Not surprisingly, it was his dad. The man might be the town sheriff, but Stiles had been coercing information out of him for years.

Noah leaned back in his chair and narrowed his eyes. “Chris brought something to my attention, and I think we need to have a serious conversation about it.”

Stiles groaned and nearly face-planted into his plate. Probably not supernatural after all. Scott must’ve told Allison where he’d been last night, and she’d told Chris. Now Stiles was busted, he just knew it. He hadn’t even been the one who instigated the rule breaking this time—it was so unfair!

He held up his fork and preemptively protested, “I don’t know what this is about, but I want it noted that it’s not my fault!”

“I didn’t say you were in trouble…” Noah paused and raised one eyebrow, “unless maybe there’s something you think I should know?”

“Nope. Nothing. _Nada.”_ Stiles shoved another huge bite in his mouth to prevent himself from any further declarations.

“You sure about that?”

“Yep.”

“Positive?”

“Abso-posi-lutely.”

“Nothing at all?”

“ _Nie_ ,” Stiles blurted past the mostly-chewed mouthful.

“And where did Peter Hale bite you?”

“My wrist—shit!” Stiles gasped, gagged and nearly killed himself. It took almost the entire cup of coffee before he had stopped choking and could breathe again. It really wasn’t fair when his dad used his ADHD against him.

Noah gently gripped Stiles’ shoulder, careful of the bruising he knew was there. “Breathe, Stiles. You’re not in trouble; I just wish you’d told me.”

Realizing he’d admitted what he had in front of not just his father but Chris I’m-a-hunter-kill-‘em-all _Argent_ , Stiles started to panic.

“I’m sorry, but I thought it would get Peter in trouble, and he only did it to protect me. Those hunters were going to kill me because I wasn’t a wolf or anybody important! Peter had to make it seem like I was important to the pack and especially to _him_ , or they would have blown my brains out—if I was lucky!” Stiles looked back and forth between the two men. “The hunters almost killed me anyway, but Peter got between me and them and—and the one woman, she was determined to kill me even though Peter did the fake mate claim thing and showed them my wrist, and dude, Peter went _nuts_ and ripped her head off before she could get anywhere near me! I’m talking ancient Norse berserker kind of thing, Dad!”

“Stiles.”

Stiles shot to his feet, staring at Chris, his eyes huge. “But you can’t blame him for that! He was just protecting me. If I hadn’t been there, he wouldn’t have killed her, so it’s not his fault. You can’t go after him for keeping me safe!”

“Stiles!”

“Dad, you can’t let the hunters kill Peter! He didn’t do anything wrong, not really!”

“Stiles!” Noah and Chris shouted in unison.

“Easy, kiddo,” Noah said, standing to pull Stiles into his arms. “Peter is not in trouble, and neither are you. Just breathe.”

Stiles clenched his fingers in his dad’s uniform shirt and trembled as he fought back the panic attack and the nausea. He seriously wished they’d sprung this on him before he’d started eating. It was so much easier to puke when his stomach was empty.

It still made him feel sick when he remembered what had happened. He should’ve been able to protect himself. He should’ve been faster, stronger when the hunters had attacked them. He’d never forgive himself if Peter were murdered now because Stiles had been too weak and slow. Stiles might not be best friends with Peter (though that was debatable, since Scott certainly wasn’t filling that role anymore, and no one else seemed interested in the position at all), but he didn’t want the wolf dead.

“Truly, Stiles. I’m not going to hunt Peter Hale. He’s actually the one who asked me to talk to you and your dad.”

Stiles got back enough control that the panic attack retreated, and he could process what Chris had said. He stared at Chris, his mouth open in shock.

“He what? He—you— _what?_ ”

“Nobody’s in trouble. I promise.” Noah relaxed his hold and gently rubbed Stiles’ back. That almost sent Stiles’ brain spinning _again_ because he’d forgotten that his dad used to do that for him to help him calm down when he’d had panic attacks after his mom got sick. It had been years since then, and he’d felt alone for so long that he’d actually started to wonder if it was something his mind had made up.

“Sit down and breathe, okay?”

Stiles nodded at his dad and dropped into his chair, aggravating his bruises and cracked ribs and making him wince again.

“May I see it?” Chris asked after several seconds. Apparently he and Noah both had been waiting for Stiles’ breathing to slow before they started again.

“What, the bite?”

“Yes.”

Stiles debated with himself. While he knew they both knew the bite existed, there was something in him that was reluctant to let them see it. Just talking about it automatically had him pressing his wrist to his stomach, even though it was covered with two sets of sleeves: a t-shirt and a hoodie.

“You can’t touch it,” he told them seriously and didn’t move to uncover the scar until they’d both agreed.

Sliding his layers up to reveal the bite felt odd and wrong. It made his stomach tense as if he were stripping off all his clothes instead of just baring three inches of his wrist. He couldn’t help it. He had to cover it with his other hand before his dad or Chris had even caught a glimpse.

Stiles looked up and caught them exchanging a speaking look, making him flush with embarrassment.

“Sorry. I don’t know why I’m being such an idiot.” Taking a deep breath, Stiles pushed his plate away. He definitely wasn’t in the mood to eat, not even real bacon instead of the turkey crap. He extended his arm onto the table, wrist up.

“It’s okay. We won’t touch it,” his dad reassured him, making a show of putting his own hands on his thighs.

Stiles nodded.

“How soon after Peter bit you did it look like this?” Chris asked, mirroring Noah with his hands on his own thighs below the table as he leaned closer to see the bite better.

Stiles twitched when Chris got too close. He was grateful when the man sat back again without making an issue of it.

“I dunno. He bit me, and then those crazies stormed into the basement where they were keeping us a couple minutes later. I guess it could have been a little longer, but I was kind of out of it because of my head at that point.” He frowned, eyebrows pulling together as he tried to remember. “It was still bleeding when Peter licked the blood off it right after he bit me. I told him that was gross, but….” He shrugged.

“But what?” his dad pressed gently, strangely calm about it all.

“But I remember after Peter…after they left that first time, I was so dizzy and cold. Peter wouldn’t let me sit on the bare cement, so I sat in his lap. I know I was looking at the bite at some point, and it hurt. Not like a cut or a real bite, but like a loose tooth you can’t help but mess with. I started licking it like Peter had. I dunno why. I think somewhere in my head I thought it would make it feel better, but it didn’t help.”

Stiles looked at Noah and tried to explain. “I know I told you werewolves can do that pain-drain thingy, right?”

At his dad’s nod, Stiles continued, “I think I whined about it, and Peter agreed to help me. He didn’t just take the pain, though. He licked over the bite. It felt better right away, and I kind of lost a little time after that. I know I got sick a couple of times too. Anyway, the next time I remember thinking about it, it was all scarred over like it is now.”

Unable to stand having them look at it anymore, Stiles jerked his arm back and re-covered it with his sleeves, sliding his thumb into his hoodie thumb hole just to make sure it wouldn’t accidentally slide up.

“So that’s why you’re suddenly wearing those shirts with the holes in the seams,” his dad said with a weak smile. “I wondered about that, but I assumed it wasn’t Lydia influencing your fashion choices.”

“No, definitely not,” Stiles scoffed. Despite being the one Lydia had come to when she'd needed help getting to Jackson, she had no more desire to talk to him now than she ever had.

Even Chris smiled briefly. When he met the man’s eyes, Stiles thought it was probably the first time he’d ever describe his eyes as kind or compassionate, which only made Stiles more wary.

“Stiles, what do you know about mating bites?” Chris asked.

Stiles shrugged again. “Just what Peter said when he told me what the hunters were saying. He said if he bit me and told them it was a mating bite, they might not kill me. They’d still hurt me, and they’d probably use me against him, but he’d rather that than have me die. I didn’t—I didn’t want to die, so I told him to do it.”

He swallowed and dropped his gaze to the top of the table as he remembered the things Peter had endured in order to protect Stiles, to protect his fake-mate. His own shame made him feel sick. The hunters had hurt and debased the proud werewolf in ways Stiles would _never_ reveal to anyone. He owed him that much.

“Alright.” Chris’ voice snapped Stiles out of his memories and back to the present. “Part of why Peter came to me is because he thought the circumstances made it impossible for you to understand and truly consent to what happened.”

“No offense, but why you?”

“Stiles,” Noah chided.

Chris held up a hand. “No, it’s alright. With the history between my family and the Hales, Stiles has every right to be skeptical. Peter knew he would be. He said to tell Stiles that he didn’t trust his nephew or a bunch of teenage ninja wolves to give you both the whole truth. He also said to say that Scott only thinks he’s Leonardo, and that you’re Raphael although you pretend to be Mikey. You even wear red. I honestly have no clue what that means, but he said you’d get it.”

Stiles ducked his head, unable to stop the smile. Part of what had kept them sane—more or less—down in that hellhole was their arguments about comic book characters, including the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. Even when he’d been in so much agony he’d barely been able to speak, Peter had insisted that Stiles was more than Michelangelo (the comic relief) and Scott wasn’t nearly the leader (Leonardo) he thought he was.

“Yeah, I get it,” he whispered, glancing from his dad back to Chris. “So what is it he wanted you to tell me, and why can’t he tell me himself?”

There was a part of Stiles that worried Peter regretted what he’d endured to save him. With every day that had passed since they’d escaped, he had been more and more afraid that the werewolf and was staying away because he resented him. Stiles could certainly understand why he would, even if it hurt.

“Right. First I need to explain that the bite Peter gave you, whether or not you intended it to be a fake mating bite, is very much a real mating bite now. If it weren’t, it wouldn’t have healed and scarred like it did.”

Stiles sucked in a breath and looked to his dad, eyes wide and afraid of what the man was going to say.

“It’s okay, kid.” Noah reached over and grabbed his hand, not the one he was still hiding, and squeezed it reassuringly. “Chris already explained all this to me. This isn’t what I wanted for you. Honestly, I don’t like it, but I’m not about to load up on wolfsbane and go hunting Peter either. He saved your life, which is something I can never repay.” Noah tried to smile, but it came across more a grimace. “I am going to warn Peter that if he hurts you, the wolfsbane option will be back on the table. I won’t torture him, but he’ll be just as dead, and I’ll make sure it sticks this time.”

Stiles stared at his dad, studying him intently. “Are you saying I got werewolf-married and didn’t know it?”

“Something like that,” Chris admitted. “The wolf part of Peter is bound to you now. It—”

“He,” Stiles automatically corrected.

The wolf was a he, not an it. Stiles still didn’t know quite how it worked, but the wolf was no mindless beast within the human. Peter’s wolf certainly wasn’t, anyway. It was more base, more id and less ego or superego, but that didn’t make him any less capable of rational thought.

One side of Chris’ lips twitched upward. “Alright, he. The wolf is bound to you and doesn’t understand why the mating—the werewolf marriage, if you like—hasn’t been consummated. He doesn’t understand why Peter hasn’t taken you back to his den to start your own little family, and he is pushing Peter to take that step with you.”

Stiles flushed hot. It wasn’t like he’d never thought about Peter that way. The werewolf was hot like the sun, and Stiles felt like a walking ball of hormones most of the time. He’d actually gotten hard looking at Jackson’s ass once, before all the werewolf crap, so of course he’d spent some quality time with his hand while thinking about Peter. The fact that he was a sexually frustrated virgin just made it that much worse. Peter had to know that Stiles had thought about him like that, but he’d never called him out on it or made fun of him the way someone like Jackson or even Lydia would have. Peter could be nice in his own, weird way when he wanted.

“I’m sure you can see my problem with that,” his dad said.

“Yeah,” Stiles acknowledged, “I’m still in high school, even if I am eighteen.”

A pained look flickered across Noah’s features.

“Well, that, and I’m not sure how you feel about Peter. I know you tolerate him—I’m well aware that Scott isn’t the only person who's under the impression that your window is a door—but that doesn’t mean you’re attracted to him.”

Stiles flushed and rubbed his hand over his eyes, wishing his dad weren’t quite so observant sometimes.

“Even if you _are_ attracted to him, eighteen is so damn young. Not to mention, from what Chris told me, if you do bond or mate or whatever with Peter, that’s it. It’s permanent.”

“There is no such thing as divorce for mated pairs,” Chris confirmed. “Which leads me to why I’m here instead of Peter.”

“The wolf—he already sees me as his mate.”

“Yes. Peter wanted to explain all this to you, but he also wants you to have time and space to really think about what you want and make your own decision. His wolf…well, he didn’t know if he would be able to keep the wolf from pushing the issue, especially this close to the full moon.”

“Oh.”

Stiles bit at the side of his thumb nail as he took in what Chris was saying. He honestly didn’t know what to do with that. The wolf thought of him as his mate, but what about the rest of Peter? Stiles was annoying on a good day. Was there any way Peter could tolerate him for the rest of their lives?

That aside, it sounded like Chris and his dad were both afraid Peter would rape him. Normally, Stiles knew Peter was dangerous, deadly even, but he’d never felt unsafe with him in _that_ way. But that was before. Now he’d been bitten, so how much say would the wolf have? Could he override what the rest of Peter wanted?

Chris paused and shifted uncomfortably. “Stiles, you have every right to decide you don’t want to be in a relationship with Peter.”

“But?”

“But if you decide you don’t want that, then Peter will need to leave. His wolf will never let him be close to you and _not_ pursue you, even against Peter’s best intentions.”

Stiles’ head jerked up, and he stared at Chris with wide eyes. “He’d just _leave?_ ” His heart literally hurt at the thought that biting Stiles might drive Peter out of his own territory. With Derek and Cora thinking about leaving, Peter would be the only Hale left on what had been Hale land for hundreds of years.

His dad was studying him with a concerned frown. “The way Chris explained it, he’d have to. He’d leave, and he wouldn’t come back. He wouldn’t be able to call or email or anything else. It would have to be a clean break.”

Without thinking about it, Stiles whimpered and cradled his bitten wrist against his chest. He completely missed that Noah and Chris exchanged another of those speaking looks.

“What if—what if I do want Peter, you know, like that?” he finally stammered out.

His dad sighed. “Well, normally I’d tell you to wait until you’ve finished college at least, but that isn’t feasible in this situation.”

“What?”

“The wolf won’t wait that long,” Chris said bluntly. “Peter asked me to lock him away from you until you’d had time to make a decision. Even then, he can only give you until the week before the full moon to decide, or the wolf will tear him apart because it— _he—_ can’t stand being in limbo like that, neither accepted nor rejected by his chosen mate.”

Cursing, Stiles rubbed his palms over his face. That meant Stiles had a week at most to make a decision that would affect the rest of his life—and his dad’s, and Peter’s, and the pack. Which, come to think of it….

“The pack will never accept me and Peter together,” he said, already feeling sick at the thought of their rejection. “Scott’s going to be convinced Peter did something to me or forced me or something. He’s already threatened Peter and said stuff to me about how Deaton could help ‘neutralize’ him.” Stiles’ breath was coming faster the more he thought about it. “Derek—Derek already ripped out his throat once. Who’s to say he wouldn’t do it now? Lydia, well she and Jackson would happily set Peter on fire _again_ if they thought they could get away with it. And let’s face it; Lydia is smart enough she could get away with it. The others don’t care enough about Peter or me to stop them. What if—!”

“ _Stiles!”_ his dad had him by the shoulders and was trying to get his attention. “Breathe with me: in—2—3—4—5. Out—2—3—4—5. Again. In—2—3—4—5. Out—2—3—4—5. C’mon, try it again.” Noah coaxed him through it over again until the darkness receded, and his heartbeat stopped thundering in his ears.

“Damn, kiddo. It’s been years since you’ve had one of those, and now twice in one day.”

Stiles let his forehead drop against his dad’s shoulder, silent because he didn’t want to lie to him. He felt Noah heave a sigh.

“How often?” he asked quietly.

Stiles shrugged. The panic attacks had never gone away, not like he’d led his dad to believe, and the supernatural bullshit had definitely brought them back with a vengeance. He was pretty sure he had PTSD (if the incident with Gerard hadn’t done it, this last kidnapping-and-torture stay with psycho-hunters sure as hell had), but it wasn’t like he could just drive on down to the local shrink to have it diagnosed and treated.

Noah sighed again and patted his back. “Okay. We’ll talk about that later. For now, rest assured that if you decide you want Peter, I will make it clear that attacking him will not be tolerated. No matter what else he’s done, he saved your life. I’m about to let anyone take him away from you, not even well-meaning pack members. Got it?”

“If this is what you want, I’ll have a talk with Allison and make sure she understands that Peter’s well-being is tied to yours. If anyone purposely hurts him after knowing that, then they’ll have a problem with your dad _and_ with me.”

Sitting back, Stiles nodded, but he couldn’t quite believe it no matter how serious and determined the two older men seemed.

“What happens if they kick him out? If he goes omega, won’t the hunters be after him? Well, more than usual?”

“If he goes omega and starts killing people, then yes, hunters will pursue him,” Chris answered carefully. “But I really don’t think that will happen.”

Stiles went back to biting the edge of his thumb nervously, his scarred wrist hidden against his stomach again. He felt like he was missing something, but he didn’t think his dad or Chris were going to tell him whatever it was.

“If I’m with Peter, will it make trouble for you at work, Dad?”

“I’m not going to lie: it could make things awkward,” Noah confessed. “Peter is twelve years older than you, so that’s going to raise more than a few eyebrows. If you take away the six years he was in a coma, he’d still be twenty-four to your eighteen. You’re still in high school, so of legal age or not, there will be uncomfortable questions.”

“Get married,” Chris immediately said. “You’re already werewolf-married, as you put it. Get legally married too.”

The sheriff nodded slowly. “We could come up with a story. Maybe Peter was a friend of the family before the fire. After he woke up, you and he got in contact while he was at some specialty clinic in Brazil healing and getting skin grafts. And yes, Stiles, I was paying attention to that documentary on plastic surgery advancements being made in Brazil.” Stiles’ lips twitched, and Noah rolled his eyes. “There’ll have to be paperwork to that effect, of course. You and he fell madly in love, and I couldn’t possibly stand in the way of that, even though you’re still in high school.”

Chris raised a brow. “Specialty clinic in Brazil?”

Noah shrugged. “Well, we have to explain how a former coma patient recovered and is miraculously unscarred, right? With all the confusion when Peter ‘disappeared’ from Beacon Hills, I’m sure someone with the right connections could make sure the right paperwork was somehow ‘found’ by the right people to prove he’d simply been transferred to an expensive care facility.”

Chris huffed and stole the now-cold bacon slice from Stiles’ plate and pointed it at Noah. “ _Now_ I see the family resemblance between you two.” He huffed again when Stiles and Noah smirked at each other. “It would help if the romance was long-distance. There wouldn’t be any problems legally, since there couldn’t possibly have been any—ah, physical contact—prior to Stiles turning eighteen.”

Stiles flushed and interjected, “Did Peter say there was a certain amount of time I _had_ to wait to decide?”

“Two days—48 hours,” Noah replied promptly. “Though that’s not his rule; it’s mine. This is too big a decision to make and then regret later. I don’t like the time limit that you have before the full moon, but I can’t change that.”

“So we can’t just, I dunno, fast forward so we can stop pretending I’m not going agree to mate with Peter?”

“Kid.” Noah closed his eyes and heaved a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers. “You couldn’t have given me even a day? A day to get used to the idea of my _child_ being werewolf-married?”

“Dad, you weren’t there,” Stiles said slowly, his anguished expression saying as much as his words. “The bite saved my life the first time, but Peter saved it so many times after that too. You don’t know what he went through, what he let them do to them just so they wouldn’t do it to me.”

“Guilt or obligation are not a good foundation for a relationship,” Chris cautioned.

“I know that. It’s not just what Peter did for me; it’s all the time we’ve spent together researching and talking too. We’re friends, good friends, which I think is why he was willing to go so far to protect me after we’d been taken. Now I need him. I think…I think I need him as much as he needs me.”

Noah opened his eyes to study him, then gave a reluctant nod. “I know you hardly sleep anymore, and when you do, you wake up screaming.” He grimaced and stared down at his hands, fingers laced together on the table. “I get that it was bad. I wish you’d talk to me so I could help you get through this.”

“No!” Stiles shook his head vehemently. “I—I can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Just talk to Chris. Ask him what he’s seen wolves heal from, and you might have a clue.”

Chris frowned when they both looked to him.

“What Kate did to Derek, what Gerard did to Erica and Boyd was nothing,” Stiles murmured, and Chris flinched, jaw clenching.

“You’re sure about this?” It was clear Noah wanted Stiles to wait, to have more time to change his mind.

“I’m sure. I don’t know if I’ll ever fall in love with Peter, but I’m not going to let him be kicked out of his own pack and territory because of what he did to save my life and my sanity. Besides, if the wolf has decided I’m his mate, then there won’t be anyone else for Peter, will there?”

Chris sighed. “According to everything I know about mating marks, in a human-werewolf relationship, the mark binds the werewolf, not the human.” He paused and glanced at Noah before turning back to Stiles. “Though, honestly, with the way you act about the mark and how protective of it you are, I don’t know that I agree with that anymore. Maybe if there hadn’t been the trauma after Peter bit you….”

“You think I’m bound already.”

Chris agreed reluctantly. “I do. I think you’re bound, and the trauma and then separation from your mate is making you instinctively protect your connection to him. Letting me or your dad look at it or touch it wouldn’t change anything.”

“But my instincts are trying to protect the bond.”

“Yes.”

“So you’re saying this was inevitable?”

“Sheriff, even now, he’s protecting the bite mark from us, and we’ve made it clear that we’re not a threat to the bond, _and_ we’ll protect Stiles and Peter from those who are.”

They both stared at where Stiles was hiding his wrist inside the front pocket of his hoodie.

Stiles flushed but couldn’t do anything but shrug helplessly.

Noah pursed his lips before saying, “I guess we’d better hammer out a good story, then.”

If Stiles breathed a sigh of relief, his dad and Chris were kind enough not to mention it.

*~*~*~*

As much as Peter hated the comparison, he was indeed pacing like a caged animal inside the mountain ash-lined room. The combination of the ash, the pervasive scent of wolfsbane and gun oil, and the forced separation from his mate had him teetering on the brink enough for control over his eyes and claws to slip.

It didn’t matter that he’d been the one to suggest the basement—it had reinforced walls that he wouldn’t be able to break through easily if he lost total control—he was never going to be comfortable in a space without large windows and multiple escape routes. He’d been claustrophobic after the fire and so many years trapped in his own mind, but it was much worse after the most recent torture at hunters’ hands. He supposed he should be grateful Chris had an area where he could confine him that had an adjoining bathroom. He purposely didn’t think of the blood and other substances the hunters had probably had to wash off in that very room after their hunts.

Peter stopped suddenly when he heard the door to the basement open and footsteps start down the stairs. A glance at the small alarm clock next to the camp bed he’d been sleeping on told him that it was late afternoon; far too soon for Chris to be returning if Stiles (and his father) hadn’t refused the mate bond entirely.

As Chris came closer, Peter could scent both Stiles and Noah Stilinski. His wolf howled mournfully in the back of his mind. Just as Peter was hoping the hunter would be as merciful as he’d promised and make Peter’s death swift, he realized he could smell his own scent from the other side of the ash line too.

What the hell?

Curiosity propelled him to the door of the room and the very edge of the invisible wall keeping him trapped.

“Peter.”

“So is it to be a bullet to the head, or did the sheriff demand something more creative to repay me for thinking I could put my hands on his innocent boy?”

Chris snorted and rolled his eyes, tossing Stiles’ backpack through the door and across the ash line. “You’re such a drama queen.”

Peter automatically caught the bag and realized that was where his and Stiles’ scents were coming from. He pulled back the zipper and was perplexed to see his own clothing inside.

“Sorry it took so long. I had a long conversation with both Stilinskis, and then Stiles insisted on getting you clean clothes despite my telling him that you’d brought your own.”

Peter’s head snapped up, and he stared at the man in shock.

“Your mate,” Chris emphasized, “said to tell you that you’re going to smell enough like stress and mountain ash that he wants you to take a shower, shave, put on those clothes, and then come to him at your place.” Chris nodded toward the bag. “Apparently if you didn’t want him in your home, you shouldn’t have made it so easy to figure out where it was…or so he said.”

Peter could hardly hear Chris over the wolf’s triumphant yips and howls.

“Also, Stiles said, and I quote, ‘I’m not a turtle; I’m batman, thank you very much!’ Frankly, I think your mate is more wolf than most of that rag-tag pack, but I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that.”

Peter laughed at that statement and at Stiles’ demand that he shave. Stiles knew werewolves well enough to understand Peter was probably going to end up rubbing his face all over Stiles’ body to scent mark him. He must not want the beard-burn.

“Stiles’ father knows? You’re certain?”

“He’s not thrilled, as you might imagine, and you’d better be prepared to ‘put a ring on it’ to make everything legal in the human world too, but yes. He knows and isn’t going to stand between you.”

Peter could hardly believe it, even though his senses told him Chris was telling the truth.

“Once you told me you weren’t going to talk to Stiles without his father being present, I honestly expected Sheriff Stilinski to ask you for the wolfsbane bullets.”

Chris bared his teeth in a distinctly wolf-like grin, the corners of his eyes crinkling.

“Oh, he did. If I were you, I’d do everything I could to keep Stiles happy, or I’m confident his father won’t hesitate to use them on you.”

Fair enough. If the elder Stilinski was anything like the son, any pain Peter caused Stiles would be revisited upon him threefold. The wolf in Peter approved of that level of protectiveness.

“Do you want me to break the ash line now or after you’re showered and dressed?”

Peter considered it for a moment. He wanted the line broken sooner rather than later, but he knew himself well enough to know that he wouldn’t be able to hold back the wolf part of him long enough to do what Stiles had requested.

“Give me ten minutes.”

Chris nodded sharply. “I can do that. Be sure to come up for air long enough to let Stiles call his father in the morning. Noah is going to worry until he hears from him.”

Peter heard the warning behind the instruction and agreed before waving off Chris and heading toward the bathroom.

*~*~*~*

The door to the apartment was locked, which Peter had expected. After all, if Stiles could get past the doorman downstairs and the dual deadbolt and electronic code locks, then someone else could as well. Peter was glad his mate was being cautious.

Dropping his bags inside the door, Peter made sure it latched and the electronic lock reengaged, then breathed in through his mouth, savoring the scent of his mate in his territory. He tracked Stiles through the living room, past the library-slash-office and the spare bedroom, and into the master bedroom. Unless he was mistaken, Stiles had actually run his hands along the walls, leaving a scent trail behind. It pleased the wolf to no end that their mate was literally guiding them to him.

The young man was sitting tailor-style in the middle of the bed, leaning back against the mountain of pillows as he either played a game or texted on his phone. Best of all, Stiles had bathed using Peter’s bath products and, from what Peter could see, he was nude under Peter’s deep green bath robe.

“Stiles,” Peter purred, wolf and man more in harmony now that they were here and about to claim their mate.

Stiles’ head jerked up. He flailed, sending his phone flying, and only Peter’s speed and agility allowed him to catch it before it smashed against the Tiffany lamp on the bedside table. Then it fell to the floor anyway because Peter was catching Stiles as he launched himself off the bed and into Peter’s arms.

“Careful, darling. I can still smell your pain.”

“Peter!” Stiles ignored Peter’s cautioning and clenched his fingers in Peter’s shirt, practically climbing him in an attempt to get closer. “Why didn’t you tell me, you moron?”

Peter rumbled lowly and buried his face in his mate’s neck, rubbing his cheek against the soft skin and scent marking him while breathing in Stiles’ own scent. Though not a wolf, Stiles had picked up enough of Peter’s behavior that he was automatically doing the same to him. Just as Chris had said, Stiles was more wolf than the majority of the actual werewolves in Beacon Hills.

“Couldn’t,” Peter growl-purred. “Had to give you the choice.”

“You’re such an idiot,” Stiles pouted. “Though at least my dad knows and…. Well, he doesn’t exactly approve, but he isn’t mad at either of us.”

“You realize your alpha is hardly going to feel the same way.”

Peter didn’t want Stiles to change his mind, but he had to make sure the young man had considered the consequences of mating with him. He could only hope that Chris Argent had kept his word and hadn’t told Stiles of the consequences to Peter if he declined. He didn’t want a mate who would grow to resent him for guilting him into a relationship he didn’t truly want.

Stiles made a rude noise. “He’ll live with it, or I’ll find some hunter willing to lock _him_ in a torture chamber for a couple of weeks. It shouldn’t take much: I think Chris is the only half-decent one on the planet.”

Peter found himself chuckling bitterly as he toed off his shoes and coaxed Stiles back on the bed. The wolf rumbled in the back of his mind, pleased at getting their mate not just in their den but in their bed and smelling willing if a little nervous.

He drew back and kissed Stiles’ forehead.

“Honestly, darling, no matter how much I love it when you’re ruthless, I don’t think you could leave your friend to go through what we did.”

Stiles shuddered and cuddled into Peter again, rubbing his cheek against Peter’s chest.

“No, probably not.”

Peter ran his hands over Stiles’ back and side down to cup his ass through the thick robe.

“You’re sure about this?”

Stiles huffed and raised his head to glare indignantly. “Yes. Don’t be more of an idiot than you already have been.” He dropped his gaze to the hollow Peter’s throat as he blushed. “I’m—uh—I’m ready. You know. Physically.”

Peter raised one eyebrow and tilted his mate’s chin up.

“What do you mean?”

Stiles blushed harder, his cheeks and forehead going pink, and his scent taking on a sharp, metallic undertone.

“You know,” he mumbled. “Chris said he wasn’t sure if your wolfy side would have the patience to, uh, prep me, so….”

Peter growled. The mental image of Stiles with his fingers in his ass, working himself open to prepare to take Peter’s cock was utterly delicious. He nuzzled Stiles’ cheek and hummed.

“As appealing as the thought of you with your fingers inside yourself is—and it is _very_ appealing, believe me—never fear that I will hurt you.”

“I have the internet. I know it’ll burn the first time even if you’re able to control the wolf enough to go slow.”

Peter wanted to claw Chris’ face off for worrying his mate, though he supposed he was a little at fault for telling the hunter that he wouldn’t be able to control himself if Stiles rejected him. However, being rejected and being accepted but needing to go slow with an inexperienced mate were entirely different things. Even when he’d been mad with rage and grief, neither man nor wolf had been able to bear the thought of harming Stiles.

“As long as you don’t reject me entirely, I can go as slow as you need,” Peter assured, brushing his thumb over Stiles’ hot cheek. “It might hurt a little, but I will never _hurt_ you. Do you understand?”

If Peter had his way, it wouldn’t hurt at all. What good was the ability to drain pain if he couldn’t ensure his mate had a perfect first time?

Stiles licked his lips and considered that. “Yeah, I think so,” he finally said.

“You want this; you want to mate with me?” At Stiles’ frown, Peter said, “I have to know. I have to be sure you’re not going into a life with me willingly but expecting to regret it at some point in the future.”

“Oh. No. I mean yes. But no.” Stiles snapped his mouth shut in frustration, then tried again, his dark amber eyes earnest. “I’m sure I want to mate with you, Peter. Do you…do you want me? I mean, you-you, not just your wolf-you?”

Reassured by the steady beat of Stiles’ heart as much as his words, Peter found himself relaxing. He cradled Stiles’ face in his hands and smiled.

“I offered you a mating bite once before. Do you remember?”

Stiles blinked in surprise. “In the parking garage? I thought you just wanted to turn me.”

“I wanted both,” Peter admitted, tracing Stiles’ eyebrow with gentle fingers. “Even in my insanity, I recognized something special in you. I wanted you, and my wolf wanted you from the moment you challenged us over Lydia. I admit that I hoped to wait until you were a bit older so I didn’t have your father ordering wolfsbane bullets from Christopher Argent, but I always wanted you, Stiles.”

Peter eased his knee between Stiles’ legs and let him feel his arousal against his thigh, proving the truth of his words that way, since Stiles couldn’t hear his heartbeat to know he wasn’t lying.

Stiles’ breath caught. He lowered his lashes like he was embarrassed, but he was smiling and smelled pleased, sweet citrus replacing the earlier sharpness in his scent pile.

Peter smoothed his hand down Stiles’ back and nuzzled his cheek again.

“Come now, darling. Did you really think I’d let your brilliant mind, wolf-like loyalty, and exquisite viciousness be wasted on someone else? And that’s before I even get started on how gorgeous you’ve become. I’ve been plotting to make you mine all along.”

Stiles snickered, the tension finally leaving his muscles. “I should have guessed you’d have an ulterior motive.”

“Yes, you really should have,” Peter teased lightly.

He was delighted to feel Stiles sliding tentative fingers beneath his t-shirt. It wasn’t exactly a bold declaration, but it was an unprompted first move nonetheless.

Peter touched two fingers under Stiles’ chin and tilted his head up once more.

“May I kiss you?”

Stiles licked his lips again, glancing from Peter’s eyes to his lips and back. He nodded.

Peter was glad he wasn’t standing because the first taste of his mate surely would have sent him to his knees. Stiles tasted sweet from whatever candy and soda he’d been drinking, but under that was something that was indescribable but utterly Stiles. His lips were soft and clinging, and he parted them to allow Peter’s tongue to dip between, eagerly tasting Peter’s tongue with his own.

The sweetness of Stiles’ scent deepened and turned musky with arousal. Peter reveled in finally being allowed to taste Stiles and learn exactly what made him gasp, what made him clench his fingers in Peter’s shirt and strain against him as he fought to get closer. Stiles was a little awkward at first, but as with all things, he was an apt pupil.

Peter wasn’t totally surprised when Stiles rolled them so he could sit astride Peter’s hips and take charge, if only for a little while. Peter would have reacted poorly to anyone else on top of him after what he’d endured, but all his instincts said Stiles was safe: he would protect Peter and his wolf just as they would protect him.

That pleased Peter too, since he and his wolf saw no benefit in having a weak mate. Man and wolf both wanted an equal who would challenge and push them to be better, to be more than they were now.

“Can we get rid of this?” Stiles panted, pulling at Peter’s t-shirt.

Peter smirked and flicked out his claws. Less than a second later, the shirt lay shredded on the floor.

Stiles’ jaw dropped, and his pupils dilated. “Fuck, that’s hot. Why is that so hot?”

Peter didn’t get a chance to answer before his mouth was otherwise occupied with kissing his mate…not that he minded. His wolf preened at the back of his mind, pleased that Stiles wanted them both, not just the human form.

Peter gently kissed Stiles’ bruises, drained the pain from his aching ribs, and soothed muscles and still-aching joints.

After that, it was easy. It was easy to rid them of the rest of their clothing and flip Stiles to his back, settling between welcoming thighs. It was easy to touch him, learning his body and cataloguing every response in a way he hadn’t allowed himself to think about before. Peter had thought Stiles might be shy or reluctant, but he should have known better. His mate was utterly perfect, eager and unrestrained in his responses. He moaned when Peter sucked a bruise at the join of neck and shoulder, he squirmed when Peter bit at his nipples, and he whined at the first touch to his cock.

“Lie still,” he ordered between kisses as he began stroking Stiles’ cock in a quick, firm rhythm, the copious precome providing adequate lube for the moment. “I don’t want you to hurt your ribs more than they already are.”

Stiles half laughed, half groaned and shoved his dick into Peter’s hand. “My ribs are the last thing on my mind right now, believe me.”

Peter huffed a laugh against Stiles’ neck, delighted by his enthusiasm though not by his disregard for his injuries. He might have chastised him, but he could tell Stiles was too excited to last long anyway.

Peter propped himself up on one arm so he could watch Stiles’ face as he came. Despite being used to Stiles’ normally expressive features, he was enthralled by his flushed cheeks and parted lips. Stiles’ eyes went distant as he focused on the rising pleasure within him, and he panted harshly. His lashes fluttered closed as he neared the precipice, but Peter wanted to see his eyes, wanted to see into his soul at the moment of orgasm.

“Stiles!” he growled.

Stiles’ eyes shot open and locked on Peter.

“Look at me, that’s it.”

Peter could feel his teeth elongate and own eyes flash as the wolf part of himself came forward. Rather than being put off, Stiles made a high keening noise, shuddered hard, and came.

“Oh, you like that do you?” Peter purred as he stroked Stiles through the aftershocks. “You like seeing my wolf?”

“Duh,” Stiles dragged Peter down for a kiss, body languid and movements uncoordinated. “Who wouldn’t?”

“Most people.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Dumbasses.”

Peter merely hummed his agreement.

It didn’t take long before Stiles was recovered and was ready for more. When Peter reached to open the bedside table drawer, Stiles slid one hand beneath the pillows and presented Peter with a tube of lube.

“I like this kind better than the one you have.”

Peter smirked and took the small tube. “Already checked, had you?”

“Of course,” Stiles gave him a mischievous look from beneath his lashes. “Besides wanting to make sure we had the kind I wanted, I _finally_ got to give in to my curiosity about your apartment. I’ve known where you live for months now, Peter, but I couldn’t let myself in because I knew you’d know that I’d been here. Do you have any idea of the kind of restraint I’ve shown? You better believe that after I showered, I put my scent on everything I could. I’ve even been in your ridiculously huge closet. I rubbed myself on _all_ your fancy clothes in there. I even wore your favorite blue sweater around for a while just to make sure it smells like me.”

Peter sucked in a breath and felt his grip on his wolf grow shaky again. His eyes flashed, and he had to drop the tube of lube before he punctured it with his claws. He growled and pinned Stiles to the bed, taking his mouth in a hungry kiss.

“I take it you don’t mind?” Stiles smirked smugly once Peter backed off to let him breathe.

Peter grinned, a bit of the glee his wolf felt shining through. “Darling, you are a _magnificent_ wolf, even if you are still human.”

Stiles laughed, his eyes sparkling with happiness, and his scent going spicy like those Red Hot candies he loved.

“I might be human, but I’m your mate. I know you _and_ your wolf.”

“Yes, mine,” Peter growled.

He had thought that he’d be lucky if Stiles agreed to be his mate at all. Even if he did, Peter had thought their first time together would be serious and full of anxiety if not outright reluctance. He hadn’t dared dream that Stiles could be as joyful, as enthusiastic as he was, but it seemed he’d underestimated his mate yet again.

Peter demonstrated his own happiness by worshiping Styles’ body and pushing him higher with every touch until Stiles was urging Peter to hurry up, to get inside him _now_.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked, carefully twisting the three fingers he had inside Stiles’ tight channel.

“Ohmygodyes!” Stiles wailed as Peter teased his prostate yet again. “Don’t make me go home and get my vibrator. So help me, I’ll do it if you don’t hurry up!”

Peter snorted. Wasn’t that a lovely thought? Of course Stiles would have experimented with toys: the young man’s curiosity knew no bounds. No wonder it was easier to get him relaxed and ready than Peter had anticipated. They were going to have so much fun later on, but for now, Peter simply eased his fingers out and carefully positioned himself between Stiles’ thighs, the head of his cock brushing against Stiles’ opening.

“You want it like this, on your back?”

Stiles nodded frantically and clutched at Peter’s shoulder and hip, arching his back, trying to pull him closer with his legs.

“Yeah, wanna see you. Get inside me now, Peter. Now!”

Peter held his breath as he pressed inside his mate for the first time and watched his face avidly. Stiles looked dazed, his parted lips red as he panted and focused on what he was feeling.

“Oh!” he breathed when Peter bottomed out.

“Alright?” Peter gritted. He didn’t think there had been any pain, but he had to be certain.

“Fuck, this is so much better than plastic,” Stiles declared, shifting his legs on either side of Peter’s hips. “Move now. Fuck me.”

“As you wish, darling.”

Peter withdrew and carefully slid back inside.

“I’m not delicate.”

“No, but your ribs are. Just let me take care of you this time. When your ribs are healed, we can be as wild as you want.”

Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Peter found his prostate again, and he ended up making a soft, whining noise instead.

“Hnnnn. That’s so good,” Stiles moaned as Peter repeated the move. “Do that again. If you get it right enough, I think I could come just from that. I—”

Peter cut him off by kissing him even as he started rolling his hips, driving his cock into Stiles’ slick heat. There was only so much he could take hearing before he lost control and came, and he wanted to make sure Stiles came again first.

Stiles was so tight around him, was so vocal in his pleasure that it was all Peter could do to hang on to his control. As it was, he didn’t realize he’d been chanting _mine, mine, mine_ until Stiles countered with, “Yes yours. You’re mine too. My mate. My wolf.”

Peter’s control slipped again, and the wolf came to the fore, changing his eyes and sharpening his teeth to fangs. His claws sliced through the mattress as he growled.

Stiles’ eyes went wide. He gasped, tensed around Peter, then curled forward and bit into Peter’s shoulder as he came all over himself without a single touch to his cock.

The minor pain from the bite and the intense pleasure from the tight muscles clenching around his cock sent Peter over the edge. He snarled and snapped his hips against Stiles’ ass, forcing his cock as deep as he could as he came.

Eventually, he was able to force himself to separate from Stiles enough to drop onto the bed beside him.

Eyes closed, Stiles hummed contentedly. “So. No knot, huh?”

Peter raised his head from the pillow enough to stare incredulously. “What the hell have you been reading?! I know that wasn’t in any books I gave you.”

Stiles rolled on his side and gave him a wide grin. “The internet is a wild, crazy place.”

“Well, stay away from that kind of crazy, please.” Peter paused. “Though there is a sort of imperative to stay inside our partner longer than most humans are comfortable with. I assume that comes from the wolf.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” Stiles snickered and stretched his arms above his head before carefully shifting his legs to check for strained or sore muscles. “I think I like it, though, so don’t stop on my account.”

His gaze shifted to the drying blood on Peter’s shoulder.

“Uh, sorry about that.”

Peter smirked. “I’m not.”

He twisted his head until he could bring his shoulder up to see the spot Stiles had bitten him. It looked odd, so he licked his thumb and rubbed at it. Much to his shock, there was a perfect bite pattern scarred into his skin.

“I think it scarred.”

“Wait, what? Let me see.”

Stiles pushed Peter’s hand away.

He got a perplexed look and stammered, “I—uh—I gotta—I mean, I want to….”

Stiles shot Peter an apologetic look, then leaned over and licked the blood away from the scar, much like Peter had done after he’d given Stiles the mating bite weeks before.

“It scarred. How is that possible?” he murmured while tracing the outline with one finger.

“I suppose it has something to do with the magic inherent to being a werewolf,” Peter told him. He was pleased he would wear his mate’s bite, but his wolf was delighted. “We scar when we give each other mating bites, so it makes sense, actually. Besides, you’re a Spark, a being with your own magic.”

Stiles held up his wrist with the mating bite with a frown. “Did I do it wrong, though? I thought it had to be here.”

Peter captured Stiles’ hand and pressed a kiss to his wrist.

“No, not at all. Mating bites used to be given in private and not in a specific location. It was only when our mating traditions blended with human wedding customs that the bites were standardized to the wrist. No werewolf would want his beloved to bare a private bit of skin in front of a big group of people, after all.”

“Huh.” Stiles sat up and pressed Peter back to the bed so he could lean over him and get a better look. As he traced one finger around the scar again, he cocked his head and closed his eyes. “I think I feel something. It’s in my head, but not really. I can’t explain….”

Peter watched, fascinated. He almost jumped when he felt Stiles nudge their mating bond.

“You can feel the bond now?” he asked in surprise.

“Is that what that is?”

Peter’s lips curled in a gentle smile. “Yes, that’s our bond. I’ll always be able to sense you, and, it appears, vice versa.”

Stiles beamed. “Cool.”

If Peter’s wolf had been delighted before, now he was utterly elated. He was yipping and prancing at the back of Peter’s mind.

Stiles licked his lips, his gaze trailing down Peter’s body. The musky scent of arousal intensified once more.

“So how much time do you need before you’re ready to go again? Do you think I could ride your dick this time? A lot of my favorite porn has the guy bottoming from the top, and I’ve been dying to try it. Those dildos with the suction cups at the bottom don’t work as well as you might think. In fact, the one I—!”

Stiles squawked when Peter surged up and pinned him down on the bed once more.

“Stiles,” he growled, letting his eyes shift beta-blue just so he could hear Stiles’ breath catch again, “It’s not _my_ refractory period we need to worry about. I think you’ll be lucky if you can walk by the time I’m through with you.”

Stiles didn’t back down. Instead, he laughed and raised one eyebrow. “Oh yeah? I dunno; you’re kinda old. I think you better prove it.”

*~*~*~*

Epilogue

Stiles looked over at his mate and grinned wickedly. “Ready for this, oh wolf-of-mine?”

“Always,” Peter purred back.

“Not in front of the old people, please,” Noah protested from behind them as they stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for Derek’s loft.

It was the first pack meeting they would be attending after mating and then a quick trip to Vegas to get married, and Stiles was half dreading, half excited to have it all over with. The weight of the platinum and diamond ring on his finger was a comfort either way.

“It could be worse, believe me,” Chris muttered bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“True,” Noah agreed, discretely bumping his shoulder against Chris’.

Stiles wasn’t sure if the pack bond the two men had established with him and Peter could account for all the casual touching they had started doing recently, but he was smart enough not to ask. There were just some things a guy didn’t need to know about his dad and the only decent hunter in existence.

Scott and Allison were officially back together, though they’d added Isaac to the relationship. Stiles had no idea how that worked and was happy to remain ignorant after all the oversharing Scott had done when he’d first gotten together with Allison. Stiles knew Chris wasn’t so lucky, since neither werewolf was particularly good at using his senses to make sure they weren’t going to get walked in on while in the middle of sexy times.

Peter laced his fingers with Stiles’. “Kindly stop talking about things likely to make me vomit. I just had these shoes polished.”

Stiles snorted, and he knew Peter could feel his amusement. Their bond had only strengthened over the last weeks, and they both suspected they’d eventually be able to send brief thoughts or images along it.

The doors opened, and Stiles found himself automatically scanning the room for threats. The loft was still pretty spartan, though someone must have brought in some furniture from somewhere. Scott, Allison, and Isaac were more than cozy on a sofa, while Jackson and Lydia were on a love seat. Deaton stood in an empty space between the sofa and loveseat, his arms crossed over his chest and an inscrutable look on his face. There was a big, La-Z-Boy chair, which Derek was in with Cora sitting on one of its wide arms. The blond murder twins were hovering and trying to look like they were a part of the pack.

Stiles pressed his lips together. The twins were yet another instance of Scott’s idiotic policy of always forgiving the psychos. He had no doubt the twins would eventually be a part of the True Alpha’s Pack despite the fact that they had admitted to being partly responsible for Erica's death, had helped kill Boyd, and had attempted to kill the rest of them at one time or another.

“Stiles!” Scott exclaimed, bouncing up to greet him with a big grin…only to stop short and scowl when he noticed Peter. “Peter. What are you doing here?”

“Hello to you too, Scott,” the Sheriff said wryly, stepping forward to stand next to Stiles.

Scott’s expression slid from irritated to wary. “Oh, um, sorry. Hi. Hey, Mr. Argent.”

It amused Stiles to no end that Scott still had to call Chris by his surname instead of his given name, unlike Stiles, Noah, or even _Peter_ of all people.

Scott focused back on Stiles and frowned again. “Stiles, what are you doing with him? Why would you want to be anywhere near him after what he did to you? Ugh, why do you _smell_ like him?!”

Stiles wondered if Scott thought Peter couldn’t hear him even though he was standing right there, or was he just that rude?

Peter snarled, but Stiles squeezed his fingers and sent soothing emotions along their bond.

He and Peter had discussed it, and Stiles was aware he was likely going to lose Scott’s friendship—such as it was—over bonding with and marrying Peter. While Stiles wasn’t happy about it, he also wasn’t as upset as he might have been once. He and Scott had been changing, and not in ways that would allow them to remain the close friends they’d been during childhood. Honestly, they hadn’t truly been close since Scott had fixated on Allison to the exclusion of everyone and everything else.

“Scott, Peter didn’t do anything _to_ me. As for why I smell like him, everything we’ve done together has been completely consensual. I know that’s hard for you to understand, but you need to accept it because this is the only time I’m going to tell you.”

Lydia rose and paced toward them, a dangerous look in her eyes. “What do you mean, consensual? What are you talking about?” Her eyes locked on his wedding band. “Are you _married_?”

That got the whole group out of their seats. Even Jackson seemed interested, though probably only for material he could use against Stiles later. Derek and Cora were the only ones who got close and, weirdly, tried to sniff them.

“Hey, now! Back the trolley up. Personal space, sourwolf, sour she-wolf. I know you’ve at least heard of the concept.”

“They’re mated,” Cora stated bluntly as she backed away and pulled a shocked Derek with her.

And then there were glowing eyes and growling all around. Peter did try to shove Stiles behind him, but stopped when Stiles leveled a glare at him that could have frozen a volcano.

“Enough!” Chris shouted over the top of the noise, a gun in his hand.

Stiles didn’t feel threatened; he just assumed that being surrounded by growling, glowing-eyed, fanged werewolves had Chris reverting to his training. He couldn’t really blame him. Even Peter was snarling at the other ‘wolves rather than the hunter in the room.

“Alright, everybody calm down!” Noah barked out, hands propped on his utility belt and his tone the same one that demanded—and received—obedience from everybody from criminals and the drunk-and-disorderly to ninety-year-old great grandmothers. “Stand down, people—humans and werewolves both. Sit down, shut up, and listen for once. You all owe Stiles that much.”

That got the teens moving back to their original positions, albeit slowly. Of course, Scott and Lydia were the last to back off.

“What do you mean, we owe Stiles?” Lydia tossed her hair over her shoulder. “No offense, Sheriff, but I don’t owe him anything.”

A low growl came from Peter, and Stiles looked over to see his mate with a mouth full of fangs, snarling at Lydia.

“Ignore her, Peter,” Stiles said calmly without bothering to lower his voice. “I don’t care what she thinks of me, not anymore.”

“That’s enough out of you, little girl,” Noah snapped. “I don’t give a damn how brilliant you think you are, you’re not too old for me to put over my knee. Maybe if your own father had done more of that, you wouldn’t be such a brat now.”

Lydia squawked indignantly, but backed away and sat back down.

“Dad….”

“No, Stiles. I’ve had it. This room is full of entitled, selfish, insecure children, and I’m beyond done putting up with it. If they want to be treated like adults, then they need to start acting like adults.”

“You can’t talk to us like that!” Jackson objected, though Stiles thought it was funny that he didn’t get up from the couch to do a bunch of posturing in front of Noah. “I’ll tell my father you threatened Lydia. Let’s see how fast he can have you arrested by your own people!”

“My father is going to hear about this!’” Peter mimicked in a mocking, high voice, then drawled, “Oh, do shut up, Draco Malfoy.”

Stiles nearly choked.

Peter gave him an innocent look. “What? It’s not like you weren’t thinking it.”

“True,” he admitted with a snicker.

Not able to handle not being the center of attention, Scott slammed his hand down on the table coffee table, cracking it, and demanded, “Would somebody please tell me what’s going on?”

“Don’t,” Stiles said before Peter could do more than draw in a breath.

“Fine,” he pouted.

“Dad?” Allison asked warily, still standing in front of the sofa.

Stiles was surprised to realize that Chris hadn’t spoken to Allison about their situation. He must not have believed she’d be able to keep it from her boyfriends.

“Just have a seat and let them explain, alright, Allison? This isn’t anything bad.”

Allison frowned but finally nodded slowly and re-took her seat in the middle of the sofa next to Isaac.

Stiles cleared his throat. “Right. So you all know that Peter and I were captured by hunters. What we didn’t tell you guys is that the hunters wanted to kill me because they didn’t think I was important enough to keep alive. Peter and I only had one way to change their opinion, so I asked him to give me his mating bite. We didn’t know if it would work, but it was our best chance.”

Derek stared at Peter, his expression blank. “You bit him, Peter?”

“It was to save him at the time, but I can’t say I’m not immensely pleased with the outcome.”

Derek frowned. “But….”

“Derek,” Peter said in a gentle tone the other man probably hadn’t heard since before the fire, “After we got out of there, I made sure he understood and had a choice. The Sheriff knew too. Stiles has been and always will be safe with me.”

The light bulb went on, and Stiles realized Peter was probably referring to Derek’s past and assuring him their situation was nothing like Derek’s and Kate’s had been.

Still frowning, Derek looked at Stiles. His chin went up, and his nostrils flared, and Stiles wondered what he smelled from them. Whatever it was, it must have reassured him because he nodded slowly.

“Okay, that’s it,” Scott declared. He pointed an accusing finger at Peter and growled, “You’re a menace, and I’m not letting you stay in my pack. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get out of my territory, and then I’m going to look for a _permanent_ solution.”

“Scott—”

“No, Stiles! I’m the True Alpha, and this is my territory. He needs to leave before he hurts anyone else I care about.” Scott tried to give him a sympathetic look. “Don’t worry, I’m sure Dr. Deaton can find a way to undo whatever Peter did to you. You don’t have to be afraid of Peter ever again.”

“What the fuck?”

For a moment, Stiles thought he’d been the one to say it, but it turned out it was Cora, of all people.

“My uncle saved your best friend’s life, and your first impulse is to throw him out of the Pack and out of the territory that has belonged to _my_ family ever people have been recorded as living in this area?”

Scott crossed his arms and glared. “We can’t know that was the only solution. Besides, it’s not like it’s forever.”

“It is,” Stiles countered. “Peter and I are mated, and it’s forever, Scott. If you kick Peter out, that means I go with him.”

Scott’s jaw dropped. “You’d really choose Peter over me, over your best friend?”

Stiles snorted. “Are you kidding me right now? How can you even ask that? Even if Peter hadn’t been the one to save my life first through the bite, he definitely saved it by getting both of us away from those psycho hunters. What were you doing all that time we were being tortured, huh, Mr. True Alpha? Oh, that’s right. You were trying to _negotiate_ with them. Well, let me give you a clue, Scott, you don’t negotiate with sadistic fucks who get off on torturing other people!”

Scott threw his hands in the air as if he thought Stiles had lost his mind. He looked to his mentor.

“Deaton, does he have that Russian syndrome? Stockholm or whatever?”

Lydia rolled her eyes. “For the love of—Stockholm syndrome would mean Stiles developed an attachment to the hunters holding him captive, not to Peter.”

“It’s more like Scott has Sunnydale Syndrome: the tendency to jump to irrational conclusions in the face of obvious evidence,” Chris muttered.

In spite of the seriousness of the situation, Stiles smirked. Obviously, making the hunter watch the entire first and second seasons of _Buffy_ had paid off.

Wary of the energies in the room, Deaton offered, “It’s possible the darkness in the nemeton I warned you three about before you did the ritual to find your parents has taken root in Stiles. I can see no other reason why your friend would suddenly take up with a murderer.”

Scott was already nodding. “That makes sense. Plus all that stuff you were telling us about how you could tell someone had been in contact with the nemeton again.”

“Oh, for Pete’s sake!” Noah exclaimed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose.

Peter smirked, but refrained from pointing out the Sheriff’s unfortunate phrasing.

“You warned them, did you? And then you had children _—including my daughter—_ perform a deadly ritual that opened them up to that darkness anyway?” Chris snapped. “I’m not so sure you’re not on the left hand path yourself, Deaton. What’s more, the Druidic Council agrees, including the Druid Adept they sent to cleanse the nogitsune from the nemeton. They finished today, by the way, and snapped all your power taps and corrosive lines into it at the same time.”

Stiles glared at the vet. “I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if a chaos demon had gotten loose in Beacon Hills.”

Deaton looked as if he’d been hit with a brick, and Stiles couldn’t help but feel like they’d dodged a bullet by calling on Chris’ connections with the Druidic Council rather than going to the vet-cum-druid to discuss the nemeton and the warning the man had given them.

Peter, Noah, Chris, and the druid had all nearly lost their minds when Stiles had explained exactly what ritual Deaton had had the teens perform. Apparently, it would have opened all three of them up and made them susceptible to possession by any entity.

Stiles, and Peter as his bonded mate, had spent more time in cleansing rituals than he cared to think about. The upside was that Peter was more integrated with his wolf than he had been since before the fire. That made it worth the hours spent inhaling weird smelling herbs and drinking nasty potions, not to mention sitting in a bathtub with special salt and crystals with water up to his neck. Stiles had been concerned his fingers were never going to unwrinkle again.

“If there was something wrong with the nemeton, it wasn’t Deaton’s fault,” Scott protested stubbornly.

“Yes it is,” Cora retorted. “He’s a druid. It’s his _job_ to know if something is out of balance in nature. It’s his job to fix those imbalances if at all possible. If he didn’t know there was a fucking _chaos demon_ in the nemeton, he’s inept. If he did know and didn’t do anything about it, or call the Druid’s Council for help at the very least, he’s not a druid but a darach.”

Derek moved to stand beside his sister, opposite Deaton, with a scowl more fierce than Stiles had ever seen. “Either way, he’s officially no longer welcome on Hale land.”

“You can’t do that!” Scott protested.

Cora smirked. “Oh, I think you’ll find that we can. No matter who the alpha is, this is Hale land, by blood and by magic. Alan Deaton, I cast you out and name you an enemy of the Hale Pack.”

“Agreed,” Peter growled. “As the last of the Hales and the third necessary for the casting out, I Peter Hale cast you out, Alan Deaton. You are no longer welcome on this or any other Hale land. Let it be so now and forever.”

Deaton looked furious, his usual calm and all-knowing expression completely erased. “Very well. I will go, but you will regret this the next time some magical monster comes through Beacon Hills. You won’t survive a year without me.”

Peter bared his teeth in an expression that bore little resemblance to a smile. “All your knowledge comes from the books you took from the Hale library, books which you will leave behind.”

“Or what?” Deaton snapped.

“Or I won’t bother going through the official system to have you charged with theft,” Peter returned smoothly, his eyes shifting beta-blue. “There are always those willing to retrieve stolen items and exact penance from the thieves when one has enough money…and believe me, we do.”

Scott had watched in bewilderment, but at the realization that Deaton was really going to leave, he turned on Stiles again, a snarl on his face.

“How could you do this to me!? I’m the True Alpha! I’m your best friend! I work for Deaton! What am I going to do for a job now?”

“The depth of his selfishness really is breathtaking, isn’t it?” Peter stage whispered to Chris.

“Breathtaking,” Chris drawled, eyes narrowed.

Stiles had to wonder how long Scott would be dating Allison if the way even she was looking at him was any indication.

“I didn’t do anything to you, Scott—” Stiles began.

“Yes you did!” Scott lost control and shifted into beta form. “This is _all your fault_!” he hissed through his fangs. “If you hadn’t made me go to the woods that night, none of this would have happened!”

“Hey, now,” Noah interrupted, “Just calm down, Scott.”

~~+~~

“Stop.” Stiles sounded oddly calm, detached almost, as if another power was guiding him. He stepped toward his wolfed-out former friend. “You still think being a werewolf is a curse? You blame us for what you are?”

“Yes!” Scott snarled.

Stiles nodded. He reached out and put his palm flat on Scott’s chest, freezing the werewolf in place.

“Then we take back the gift you were given. The wolf spark is always a gift, no matter the intent of the giver, but it is no longer one you will be permitted to use and then blame for your own poor judgement.”

Stiles somehow reached inside Scott’s energy and _pulled_. When he withdrew his hand, Scott gasped and fell to the floor, coughing and wheezing, and Stiles held a bright red, pulsing light in his palm. He turned to Peter and pinned him with his gaze, likely unaware his own eyes were glowing white hot.

Stiles moved to stand mere inches from Peter. “Do you want this?” he asked softly.

“That’s the alpha spark?” Peter returned just as quiet.

Peter’s heart was racing. After all the cleansing rituals they’d undergone, he was confident whatever was influencing Stiles wasn’t evil, but that didn’t mean it was benign either.

The room was silent, almost as if everyone was holding their breath.

“Yes.”

“What will it cost me?”

Stiles tilted his head and smiled slightly. “And if we said it would give you a pack? It would make you strong in a way no one could take from you, but you would lose your mate bond?”

Peter stared into the entity that looked out at him through Stiles’ eyes. It might have been tempting, but he had learned his lesson: power wasn’t everything.

“I want the alpha spark, but I want Stiles more. Give the alpha spark to Derek,” he said resolutely. “I’ll teach him what he needs to know to be a leader like his mother.”

“Well chosen,” Stiles murmured.

Without warning, he pressed the alpha spark into Peter’s chest.

Peter gasped and braced himself, but instead of being the painful burn of power Peter remembered from when he had taken the Hale Spark from Laura, the alpha power flowed through him like liquid sunlight, warming and healing as it went. He could feel his wolf calm and merge with his human self until they were a single entity once more.

As good as it felt, Peter frantically grasped for the mate bond as soon as he could think. He breathed a sigh of relief when he found it as strong and healthy as ever.

Opening his eyes, Peter searched out Stiles and found him standing before him, smiling happily, all sign of otherness vanished.

Peter made a soft sound and pulled him into his arms, holding him as tightly as he could without hurting him.

“Aww, c’mon!” Stiles complained, laughing. “You’re gonna make me do it for you, aren’t you?”

“What?” As much as he adored Stiles, that didn’t mean he always understood him.

“Oh, Fine.” Stiles drew back just enough to look into Peter’s alpha-red eyes and adopted a deep, faux-serious tone. “You’re the alpha now," he intoned, then burst into bright laughter.

Peter seized his mate’s laughing mouth in a fierce kiss, hardly able to believe it was real. Doubtless there would be any number of trials in the future, but with Stiles at his side, Peter could believe anything was possible.


End file.
